


We used to talk every night

by DSp8ceComet



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Character Analysis, Character Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:07:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24198709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DSp8ceComet/pseuds/DSp8ceComet
Summary: The echoes have found their way back to me- I'm glad.





	We used to talk every night

I thought I could do better.

A memory is resurfacing, but I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to recall the memories I made with them. I don’t want to think about what could have been if we hadn’t fallen out of touch, if life didn’t tear us apart. They were happy memories, but I can’t stand the thought of remembering them. One was an accident, one was my fault. Another only because of the gods.

I think of a fresh, cool breeze that curls around my hair, carries the stress away. I think of the gravel crunching under my feet, the orange lights from the street lamps. I recall the smell of incense, melting ice cream and a sense of carefreeness. In that moment, in those moments, where I was okay, even if it lasts only for a split second- I want to live in them forever. Those moments where I was alone. I wish I could be, forever.

Without having to present myself to others everyday- or maybe I should stop caring about societal norms and the responsibilities I bear on my back just because I exist to others. If I didn’t, I’d be free. No, I wouldn’t. I really, really wouldn’t.

I recall a metal double glider swing, the murmur of the water filter, the chirping of the crickets. To know that I am the only one who remembers, that I will be the only one who will ever be able to feel that moment truly, weighs heavy on my being. Why must time be fleeting? I want someone whom I can share all these memories with, bring them there and let them experience it too just so I will feel more alive. Someone who will love every part of me, who will love the parts of me I can’t love- surely, I am asking far too much. They say others can’t love you if you don’t love yourself first but I know that isn’t true. Too bad I am still alone. If I had said something, could you have been that person? I’m sorry, even though it isn’t entirely my fault.

I don’t miss you.

But I am thinking of you.

You’ve probably forgotten about me already. Did you know you meant everything to me once? I hate that I still think of you because you aren’t thinking of me. Why?

I recall hard candy, crushed can drinks, and a comforting presence. The embers that burn bright in contrast to the gentle light of the moon, a smile.

I don’t want to think of tomorrow.

Tomorrow is when I go back, when the sun rises, and I go back to being my usual jaded self. The nights always feel more delicate. It is why I love it. I dream of skyscrapers that light up against the darkness, of being in a hotel room in the middle of a busy, bustling city. This ache in my chest never goes away. To caress a lover in the middle of the night, to enjoy a cup of tea on the patio as the sun sets over the horizon. To sit on the cold linoleum tiles of an abandoned building, to swim in a lake with your closest friends in the summer. How I long to have a life with these moments in them. I envy those who have had any one of these memories. Peace, joy, purity, innocence. And all I do is remember again, remember watching the sky, remember their happiness and the mosaic tiles.

I will never experience this again.

A sigh.

When will I find lasting contentment?


End file.
